


Christmas Without You

by Merkey666



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Excessive Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkey666/pseuds/Merkey666
Summary: Day two of the five days of Christmas thing





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sad, but I can't write sad things, so it ends happily.

If there was one thing he wasn’t expecting, it was a knock at 12:15 am on Christmas day. Still, Mikey got up, hands shaking from the amount of liquor he’d consumed. His glass dropped to the ground when he tripped over the disregarded wrapping paper. The silence in his house had gotten to him when he was mid-wrapping his gifts. The smash and crackle of glass shards scattering across the floors wallowed in his ear drums while he hobbled over to the door. His bedroom called out in the dim lighting, begging him to get there before he collapsed with a face full of glass. He grunted angrily, waving away the option before he could give it some proper thought. The door was no more than five feet away when he stopped. The person knocked a second time and that gave Mikey the strength to go the last few feet and pull open the white door. His fingers jumped from one lock to the neck, the jitters making him take a while. He almost worried that the person would leave. He craned his neck to see through the peephole, but it was fogged up from the frosty air combined with his breath. Although, his house was so cold he was surprised his breath was any warmer. 

He yanked open his door and slouched to the side, wiping his eyes once before squinting at the figure. 

“Oh.”

~

“What the fuck do you mean you have to go away? What could be so important for you to miss mother-fucking Christmas?!” Mikey shouted, voice dripping with hurt. 

“I’m sorry! It’s for my career and you know I can’t give it up! Christmas means a lot to you, I know that, but think of it as my Christmas present. It’s better for me, you can get behind me being happy, can’t you?” Pete replied steadily. 

“What? Excuse me?! I thought you’d be happy to have a Christmas that wasn’t spent on tour, but I guess you’d rather be away from me, yet again. Do I really mean that little to you?” he asked weakly. Pete’s shoulders dropped and he pursed his lips sadly. 

“Mikey, please. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it’s what is best. I care about you so much. So much that I’m-“

“Missing Christmas?” 

Pete stopped and dropped his hands. He took a step back and turned away. Air wasn’t reaching his lungs steadily. He rubbed his eyes and heaved out a quick breath. Mikey sniffled once and then ran out. Pete didn’t turn back until he heard the front door slam, and he didn’t open his eyes until he heard a car drive away. He was weak, he was afraid, and he was lonely. 

Pete sat down on the bed, barely biting back the lump in his throat. Something cold pressed against his hand, leaving a circular impression on his palm. His fingers grasped it and pulled it up to his lips. 

“No,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears broke through anyway. The ring was cold in his hand, no heat left from Mikey’s fingers on it. It was the only thing he had left until after Christmas.

~

Three days later, long after Pete had taken his flight over seas, Mikey walked back into his flat. Gerard’s house had been festive and welcoming, and Mikey knew it wasn’t back problems that he was losing sleep over. Gerard had bid him goodbye and Merry Christmas without knowing he was going home to a cold, paren house. Gerard didn’t know he was having Christmas alone. Gerard didn’t notice Mikey wasn’t wearing his engagement ring. 

Mikey unlocked the door and stepped inside. The heat was on, there was a tree in the corner, half decorated. A poinsettia on the coffee table, mistletoe on the archway to their bedroom, a wreath on the door, tinsel and wrapping paper everywhere. Mikey overlooked all of this once he saw one little paper on the dinner table. 

He slowly walked over and picked up the paper.

“Happy holidays, Mikey,

I know we left off poorly, but I wanted to let you know I’m sorry. I hope you’re reading this before Christmas, because if you’re not then that would mean you probably went off to some bar and got drunk, which is no way to spend Christmas. Being alone isn’t any way to spend Christmas either, and I’m sorry that I had to go. Please have Christmas with Gerard, he’d love to have you. I promise this won’t happen next year, the year after, or ever again. Things will get better soon, and I need you to be with me when that happens. Please.

-Pete”

Out fell Mikey’s ring. He let out the breath he’d been holding without knowing. He cupped a hand to him mouth as he leaned over and picked up his ring. His balance left him and he toppled over, still holding the letter and ring. He rolled onto his back and bit his lip to keep from crying. Until his lip started to bleed. 

Mornings were the worst. Not only was the bed cold from the lack of people occupying it, but it started the day off badly. It was like some sort of nightmare where the best case scenario is dying in your sleep. The first breath of air in the morning, not quite so fresh, smelled the same as it did when he finally dropped against the comforter. Like booze and watered down evergreen and paper that was too close to the fire place. This morning was the worst yet. Mikey knew the day, he wished he didn’t, the sun sung to all the happy people that weren’t Mikey. This wasn’t to say he didn’t have any fun that season, he laughed quite hard when he saw his reflection, but that was only followed by pityingly cold shower. 

It was only really eleven o’clock in the morning, but Mikey concluded it was five o’clock somewhere, and that was good enough for him. A bottle of shitty Gin slipped into his palm again, it accidentally touched his lips, the drink unintentionally drained down his sore throat. It wasn’t exactly tylenol, but it helped the pain go away. As he meandered into the seasonal kitchen, the snow began to fall, keeping threatening eye contact. The elf on the shelf sat exactly where it was put a few days ago, but at from his view, it just looked mean. Mikey’s focus began to blur and the dizziness that was not a newcomer to his body returned with sullen empty arms returned. He picked up an orange from the counter top, and judging by the texture, it was no longer edible. Instead he bounced in his palm once, demonstrating just about the most coordinated thing he was capable of, and chucked it at the elf. It hit about five feet off, smacking against the fridge and leaving a nice green and orange smear right on the front. 

The very stench of it was so potent Mikey made a face and waddled over to the sink and gagged once or twice, smiling. He couldn’t explain his smile, to him it simply felt right. The only sound to surface in quite a while came out, a growl from his stomach. He was hungry, but there was a better chance of him passing out then there was of him touching the fridge. The smell was that bad. Of course, he could’ve cleaned it up, but the liquor had different plans. 

The Gin bottle was already half gone at fifteen minutes past, and the cabinet definitely corresponded accordingly. The calendar read December twenty-fourth, the liquor cabinet read “too close to Christmas”, and the bottles in the sink read “too soon”. Mikey bent over the sink and spat out some stomach acid and wiped his mouth. Opening the window was a sure way to freeze to death, and he wasn’t so sure about walking away from the sink. He turned around, which proved too much for his sickly brain. Whimpers, choked sobs, gagging, and crying were the only sounds that house knew during December twenty-fourth. 

Pete was still right, he could’ve gone to Gerard’s and spent his night off of the floor, but he wasn’t ready to put his ring back on, and he wasn’t ready for someone to notice it was gone at dinner, and most importantly, he wasn’t ready to spend Christmas without Pete. Alcohol blurs the mind, and no one’s proven that drinking enough of it doesn’t blur time. Drink enough, and maybe Christmas just won’t happen. 

As the liquor mulled around, his mind mulled the letter which he could still see. It was on the table in the living room, not ten feet away from where he was. A red Christmas candle was there, unlit, because Pete knew him too well. That made him think for an extra moment: Pete knew him well, had proven countless times he loved him. So Mikey ought to give him a shot. He pulled out his phone which, thank God, was in his pocket, and dialed Pete’s number without thinking. He went straight to voicemail, which didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. 

“Hey, Pete. Merry fucking whatever… I wish you were here, kind of, I don’t really know. I,” he coughed. “I can’t feel my legs, actually. If I were a song writer, I’d write a song about this, but I’m not. My ring, uh, is covered in blood and booze and it’s sticky so I’m not gonna wear it for Christmas. Have fun doing whatever you’re doing. I don’t know what you’re doing because you, uh, didn’t tell me. I hope Santa doesn’t skip over you for being a dick, so, yeah. Merry Christmas, Pete.”

Mikey clicked his phone off and sighed deeply, like it was the first time air had touched his lungs in days. The dingy air didn’t feel sweet, it felt sticky and it made his chest heave and his head burn. Mikey turned back around and watched the snow fall outside the window, while he was stuck inside drinking and crying. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be the two of them, laughing and watching It’s A Wonderful Life and wrapping presents, and kissing under the mistletoe until they could taste the eggnog in each other’s throats. 

Pete was like a disease, spreading all over the world, and few survived. Mikey was barely hanging on, but he convinced himself that the stickiness on his ring would make it stick forever. So he slid his ring on and wrapped his arms around himself, leaning back over the sink and retching again. 

~

“Hi, Mikey.”

“This is the worst illusion yet,” Mikey choked, trying to shut the door before he burst into tears. Pete put his arm in between the door and the latch, and stepped through the doorway. Mikey watched him walk into the house, ever so slowly. 

“Are you going to make me leave?” Pete asked quietly. Mikey shook his head and walked over to Pete as steadily as he could. Pete had had his fair share of intoxication, probably more in his life than the average person should, so he saw it right away.

“How drunk are you?” he asked quietly, shutting the door gently as Mikey fell onto the chair like a blanket. His body was so bony, as it usually was, but the way he fell made him look like he didn’t have any. Pete walked over to the other chair quickly, grabbed the blanket and layered it over Mikey, who balled himself up almost immediately. Pete sat down on one of the arms and ran his fingers through Mikey hair. Before he could say anything, Mikey was already asleep. Pete looked over the house disappointedly. Not in the quality, but in himself. It was his fault there were more bottles in the house than ornaments on the tree, it was colder indoors than outdoors, his fault Mikey was drunk off liquor rather than eggnog. It was his fault Mikey was alone. 

Pete grabbed the bottle out of Mikey’s cold fingers and stormed over to the controls for the heat, and cranked it up as high as he could. When Mikey’s fingers felt like his own, not like a cadaver’s, then he would turn it down. Pete found the cork to the bottle on the kitchen floor, where he corked the bottle and put it back on the shelf. He winced at a smell, which was so truly awful that he shivered, and pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. His shoulder dropped pathetically when he saw the elf sitting on top of the fridge, smiling even though what he’d seen could’ve made anyone cry. Pete saw the remains of the orange on the fridge and looked back at Mikey who was balled up on the couch. 

He dropped his shirt from his mouth and rolled up his sleeves. Despite the jet lag and the fact he was running on coffee and determination and self-hatred, Pete grabbed the sponge, wetted it, and went to work in the kitchen. He figured, guessing the rest of the house couldn’t look much better in comparison, that the entire place would be as clean as he left it by early morning. He underestimated Mikey. 

~

In complete honesty, the only reason Mikey woke up on Christmas at all was the fact that his nose was so very trained to peak it’s attention whenever coffee was detected. Pete was on his sixth cup of the night, and was surprised it was this batch that finally got Mikey up. As the first shards of light entered his pupil, he winced and cowered back under his blanket until he was able to grasp just how magnificent his headache was. His nose poked out of the cave of blankets to find the air wasn’t as cold as he thought it ought to be. His dark eyes peered outwards, and his slightly tipsy mind couldn’t quite figure out why there was a cup of coffee and a can of Advil on the coffee table. Furthermore, he certainly couldn’t remember doing any of these things- and then Pete entered his frame of view. 

He sat in front of him, right there on the floor, and waited for Mikey to react. It came to mind that in all his cleaning, Pete hadn’t noticed Mikey’s glasses anywhere, and it he was wearing contacts then they were surely on the back of his eyes by then. The eye rubbing didn’t help. 

“…Pete?” Mikey asked, his voice low from the morning. Instead of replying, Pete handed Mikey both items from the coffee table and waited, with them in his hands, until Mikey grabbed them. There was a brief staring contest until Mikey finally downed the pills and covered his face with a blanket again. Pete didn’t expect anything less. 

The cliche of time flying on Christmas didn’t really apply to either of them that day. Pete felt every minute Mikey was asleep, knowing that he was wasting away his hours because he himself had been vain and ignorant towards Mikey. Mikey’s sleep was restless, and every time he momentarily awoke, he knew exactly how much time had passed. It was that lame dream-ridden sleep that didn’t really feel like sleep at all. Pete began to doubt Mikey would ever wake up for good, just as Mikey’s arms and legs stretched and his eyes opened, wide and bright. For a moment oh so swift, Pete tried to bury the joy of having the first sober conversation with Mikey in a week, but the joy buried itself as Mikey walked quickly past him, eyes dead-panned at the floor.

Pete followed him like a small child following their parent around a supermarket. All lost and found, rights and lefts, and product everywhere. There was food on the table, cooked not long before, since Pete had decided coffee worked better than sleep at five in the morning. Mikey grabbed a plate, which was more for Pete’s satisfaction than his own hunger. Pete took one accordingly, leaning against the counter while Mikey sat upon a stool. As the two began to eat in harmony that was too forced, one did not intend to let the indifference stand. 

Mikey dropped his fork and snapped his head up, both hand and head as jittery as the words he was yet to speak. 

“Will you apologize? To me, to my face. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you came home because you regret your decision, not because it wouldn’t be good press coverage. Will you apologize for hurting me?” Mikey asked, looking sincere and as sober as he had in three nights. Pete nearly dropped to his knees, but instead settled for dropping his plate onto the counter. While Mikey watched Pete become an accidental theatre major, the sound of china rattling against marble rang.

“Yes, please,” Pete said, fumbling his hands because he had nothing to do with them. Mikey wouldn’t let him hold his hands, even if Pete was willing to be that cheesy. He kept wringing out his fingers while Mikey kept his oddly worrying eye contact. Pete could see his eyes for the first time in a while. They were there the whole time, but the booze must’ve clouded them up and over, and now they were there again. On his face, above his knows, hanging from his brow like a stalactite, inside his eye socket caves. They were coffee bean brown, with pupils the color of snow-less winter nights, and the whites the shade of baseball stadium billboards. Inside his dictionary eyes, the clouds parted and Pete really, truly saw that Mikey was, above all, very, very hurt. 

“Okay,” and the signal was sent. One breath was taken, only by Pete, and the words just came pouring out. No hesitation, no take backs. Forward and only forward. 

“I’m sorry, a million times and more. I’m sorry for every star in the sky and every galaxy in our multiverse, because I know they’re all pitying us for how petty and self-centered we are, thinking we matter more and all. Every word I speak, every breath I take, it’s all for you. Your health, your happiness, your consciousness, everything I give thanks for. From a penny to a fortune, I love you. From a seed to a forest, you give me air. You’re the sun that I revolve around, the politics of my country, you make me, me. And for all that I love you for you, and that’s why I’m so Goddamn sorry I ruined your Christmas. That job was nothing if I couldn’t have you, couldn’t make you happy, couldn’t give you what you deserve. I don’t want to be happy, I don’t want to be domestic, I don’t want to be a star if I can’t have a sun like you to revolve around. You’re not my everything, because I don’t need everything, I need you. And I’m praying to God that you still need me too.”

The china settled, background noise more dead than Abe Lincoln. 

“I’m not a poet,” Mikey looked him in the eye and Pete could feel his soul being probed. “So I hope my vows will be much worse than that."

“W-“ Pete started. He took a step back and shut his eyes, giving his sensory overload a quick break. One solid breath touched the insides of his lungs and he gave his sentence a second shot. 

“How’d you know?” Mikey eased himself off his chair like his legs were made of uncooked spaghetti, and once he was off the stool, he was at Pete’s side before his heart could beat. Pete smiled up at him, a summer smile, a warm, glow-y day smile. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The look in Mikey’s eyes had already changed from hurt and Pete leaned in before Mikey could get out an answer. It worked out well. Eggnog laced tongues and sugar plum fairies danced in brains as they swapped saliva, holding and touching and reeling with emotion. It was like a whole symphony set up shop and decided they got to be center stage in all their glory, hearts heaving and strung up and teetering on glass towers, barely holding onto the spotlight. All that sound and passion boomed and banged and dredged onwards in waves, devouring their love and building it up until Pete was nearly in tears and he had to pull away.

“I’m sorry.” Simple. 

“I accept your apology. I accept,” Mikey whispered, talking with an artificial lisp from the liquor that was still fermenting in his body. It came and went, but Mikey meant it just the same. 

Simpler.

Mikey leaned back in, putting too much effort into his dip, and stumbled onto Pete, rather than kissing him. Pete caught his shoulders, holding up like a puppet. 

“Let’s get you a little better situated,” Pete talking so close to him that he could taste his breath. Eyes matched eyes, a blush rained down and a smile followed. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mikey whispered, letting Pete lead him into the living room. The tv was a fuzzy snow land, until Pete clicked the remote and it turned to the opening screen of It’s A Wonderful Life. It registered with Mikey as soon as he was next to Pete, on the couch, under a mountain of layers and kisses. Mikey sighed and looked at Pete with a semi-sad expression.

“This… Is the best you can do?” he asked, grabbing a strand of Pete’s hair and yanking on it. Only so many ways to get someone’s attention. 

“I promised the movie, didn’t I?” Mikey had to seriously resist the urge to not roll his eyes, and that alone flared up the soft spot in his head. He grimaced and clenched his jaw, waiting for the moment of true sickness to pass. Pete pressed his lips onto Mikey’s cold forehead and waited for the creases to mold back in. 

“You know I love you, right?” Pete asked, wrapping his fingers around Mikey’s, the temperature difference barely noticeable. 

“Sometimes. Sometimes I know,” Mikey whispered, pressing his back against Pete’s stomach and nuzzling closer. Pete felt little tingles in his spine where Mikey’s warmth got through him. Little feelings that nothing else was ever going to give him, and he finally got it. 

He finally got that he was in love, something he was so scared of as a kid, something he never wanted. He wanted music, to save kids, he wanted to help. It was funny, how all Pete wanted to do was help, but when Mikey, someone he truly loved, wanted one thing from him, he couldn’t even give that. And there was no one to say that Pete didn’t love Mikey, no one to say he’d ever stop, he did propose after all. And Pete got it, right there, on that fucking couch, that there was no way in hell he’d ever leave Mikey behind ever again.

“I always love you, Mikey.”

“Good.” Music swelled, bells rang, coffee wafted into the air from the cups on the coffee table. Before the movie got into full swing, Pete paused it.

“Is this a good enough Christmas? I fucked up and this was all last minute, but I gotta know, on a scale of the NSYNC Christmas album to I ingested an entire Christmas tree, how bad was it?”

Mikey sniffed. “Nightmare before Christmas.” 

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad, 'cause, like, the name means bad but the movie was amazing. I’ve got a tattoo of Jack Skellington, see?” Pete rolled up his sleeve and Mikey buried his face in the blankets, laughing. 

“You decide. Also, Pete?” Mikey asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up, I’m trying to watch.”

Pete laid back down and pressed kisses on the back of his neck while the movie began to play again. Pete finally settled down with a few words that were less poetic than Mikey’s entire existence. 

“That elf was fucking creepy anyway.”

And Mikey smiled from his place, watching the movie go on. 

Some things do not go to plan, and Christmas Eve tended to be one. Nothing could help that, and the only thing to do was to move on. Laughing, watching It’s A Wonderful Life, wrapping presents, and kissing under the mistletoe until they could taste the eggnog in each other’s throats was part of the plan that never really happened. These things combined did not make Christmas what it usually became, but what it symbolized for them. After all, symbols are just what we make them, so who’s to say you can’t make your own? Not a single present was opened on Christmas day, but Mikey’s ring got washed by his own fingers and to Pete that was the best present to date. And as for Mikey? Pete came home for Christmas, because there was no Christmas without Pete. What good is the sun if there’s no one to revolve around it? 

Merry Christmas, everyone.


End file.
